[Marvelous that you're starting this again! ...and a bummer that I'm going to miss it  . Good luck with it, I hope it's successful - and that there's another one soon(ish), hehe.]

Cheers all, big  for all the conspirators, Cwyn keep adjusting that schedule, don't let the overthrowing slip off the list...

Oh dear... what with everything that's been happening, 'Holy War' got moved into next November... But let's see, if I shift 'murder', 'betrayal' and 'date night' around, it might get bumped up a little.

Me blinks innocently... 'Wait, what am I saying - I meant, if I can get a few hours off of volunteering at the Hydlaa shelter for homeless groffels, then I might find some time to undermine and destroy your blasphemous plot help you overthrow Dakkru. Sounds good?'

Hehe, happy to oblige. Hm, but Volki who found this so informative, and Mariana who found it so funny ( ), you should both consider to contribute to my payment, I don't reeeaally want to bankrupt poor Roled... 

And Nico (right? right?), don't let Cwyn hear you say that IG, he'd have to make all kinds of empty threats to save face, and those kind of threats are detrimental to his image.

Cwyn flips through his little black book of information and gossip.

Let’s see…
- Rigwyn is terrorizing Hydlaa and scaring fenkis out of the Kada-Els;
- Evirea seems to have taken it on herself to rid the city of this menace;
- Potare is using a young Dermorian as test subject for his dangerous and illegal alcoholic mixtures;
- A strange milk shortage has struck Hydlaa, with Jomed the cook constantly out of supplies (rumours that this is because Sheira had won a lifelong supply of milk off someone is exaggerated, but it’s true that with a bit of trickery and forgery, Roled can expect to get an outrageous bill in the mail for a few dozen crates of milk);
- Celroc is still dazzling everyone with his DJ skills;
- Echtion is weeping over the loss of a pantry full of strudles that got demolished, shelves and all, by Celrau (how the fur-coated consumer got into the place remains a mystery)
- Ziara is worried and her poor tail a little the worse for wear;
- Nicoletta is her usual darling self, accepting apples out of the heavens as a token of Harnquist's romantic interest;
- the sacrilegious plot to overthrow Dakkru had either dissolved, or ground to a halt, or went underground, shortly after being infiltrated by a Dakkruist (details are unsure);
- Asmo is busy with something;
- Ilase is still flirting with everything with a pulse, which somehow involved or lead to a rather awkward sex ed conversation in the Kada-Els (that is, awkward for eavesdroppers, Ilase himself was remarkably cool about it);
- and Resildren has either a) given up his murderous intent to wipe a certain young Dermorian off the face of the Dome; or b) is lulling said Dermorian into a false sense of security while he bides his time to strike again.

There. Now, all this gossip won’t be cheap, RR, so I suggest you start looking for a small fortune while you wait for my bill to arrive... 

[EDIT: Careless, careless, almost left some real information lying around in there... ]

Hmm, I couldn't see anything in the calendar, is this still scheduled for 3 May?

If it is, then time is running out for Cwyndeth to steal rob some money in order to buy blackmail someone in order to get cajole his way into somehow get his hands on suitable attire. Because, of course, if it's a celebration of hard work, devotion, loyalty and commitment, Cwyn must be there.   

Baazel is coming and it will poison your heart.

Children’s stories. That had been the consensus among everyone in Hydlaa Cwyn had dared ask to about it. At best: bedtime stories that mothers tell children to scare them into behaving. At worst: vague references to the dark parts of religion and the sewer fanatics. And even then these boiled down to: ‘Children’s tales, Cwyn, surely you’re old enough not to believe in any old yarn some madman in a tavern spins you?’

Actually, it had happened just outside of the Kada-Els. A fellow Dermorian, clearly in distress, and Cwyn not sensible enough to make a wide berth around the crazy elf. The man had a hand full of circles; said they were talking to him; pleaded for someone to make them stop. One misguided attempt at heroics later, Cwyn could only remember about half of the man’s muddled babbling: something about Dakkru’s dark machinations, something about demons coming through the cracks and fissures of the realm. The only clear words, the words that Cwyn couldn’t forget – Baazel is coming and it will poison your heart…

A couple of weeks of petrifying paranoia followed when Cwyn doubted even his own sanity. But when nothing else happened, he eventually put the whole encounter out of his mind. Until he heard that name again.

It should’ve been just a quick trip through the forest to Levrus, nothing worse than dodging arangmas. But then he saw Roled, standing a little ways off at the edge of the clearing around the magic shop. Even though Cwyn knew he should avoid the other elf, an opportunity presented itself that was too good to pass up. So he snuck closer to see what the disarming Dermorian was up to – realising too late that the opportunity was in fact somewhat of a worst case scenario. Because there, hidden from Cwyn’s line of sight behind a rock, was someone he’d hoped he wouldn’t run into any time soon: Rigwyn.

Roled was busy confronting Rigwyn. About Allena. While Cwyn would’ve dearly liked to know what Roled thought he knew about the Rigwyn-Allena complication, his survival instinct told him to get away before he could become collateral damage in a fight between two powerful mages. Rigwyn alone was bad enough. Rigwyn and Roled with the latter about to lose his temper, well, that was pretty high on Cwyn’s list of things to run away from as fast he could.

But then the Diaboli said that name: Baazel.

From his hiding spot, Cwyn listened first in disbelief and then in growing terror to Rigwyn’s ranting: To hear his name is to be tainted with it. The name has power. The name turns your mind to him.
This alone should’ve been enough to make Cwyn obey Roled’s frantic order to run once the younger elf was discovered. But common sense only took Cwyn as far as Levrus’s shop, where he ran into someone else without any apparent sense of self-preservation. Instead of running or hiding, the Ynnwn, Aleeane, dressed in crystal mage robes, joined the fray.

And somehow Cwyn found himself creeping towards the fight as well. (If anyone should ever ask him at bladespoint why he did this, well, depending on who is doing the asking, he had a number of lies ready. The real reason wasn’t something Cwyn would admit to for all the tria in Yliakum.)

Thankfully, he never got a good look at the vile creature that Rigwyn had apparently summoned. Its presence alone was terrifying. The fight, too, was mostly obscured from where Cwyn was hiding, although the fog and the flashes of magic and the stench and the sounds of fighting and howling and the shaking of the ground painted a picture horrifying enough. Heart hammering, cursing himself for a coward and a fool, he heard Roled’s prayers; Rigwyn’s cries; Aleeane’s shout of battle. Also the demon’s foul words as he tried to force or entice Roled into letting him possess the elf. Coupled with Rigwyn’s attempts to trick Roled into saying the words that would allow the demon access.

Finally: a howl of agony from Baazel as Aleeane dealt him the death blow. A rustle of leaves as a fresh wind blew the filth from the battle away. The sounds of the wildlife who dragged off Baazel’s lifeless body.

Aleeane came away more or less uninjured. Roled escaped with his life, although narrowly. Cwyn had no idea what had happened to Rigwyn. For a few moments, Cwyn had itched to slide a dagger between the Diaboli’s ribs while he was apparently incapacitated, but he was glad that he didn’t. Publicly making an attempt on Rigwyn’s life would burn bridges that might be useful later.

In the end, survival was about priorities. Baazel, if – or rather, when – he returns, would be the problem of someone significantly stronger, more powerful and better equipped than Cwyn. No. His first priority lay injured and sick in the second floor of Levrus’s shop and, to be honest, didn’t have anything to do with survival in the strict sense of the word.

The second priority was to do something he should’ve done long ago: get rid of the circles the madman had given him. He would’ve done it straight away the moment he got it (any thief knows that the best way to hide ill-gotten money was by spending it, discreetly) but a sensible, beautiful fenki had persuaded him not to. After all, if the circles did drive people mad, Cwyn wouldn’t want to be the one that spread insanity through the whole of Hydlaa. But then, the circles had never talked to Cwyn. The most plausible explanation was that they were truly harmless and spoke only in the deranged fantasies of the lunatic who gave it to him. Or perhaps Cwyn’s mind simply wasn’t of the right shape to hear them. Or maybe Dakkru protected him. Whatever the case, now that it seemed there was some truth in the lunatic’s words, it would be best to cover any traces that Cwyn had ever been involved.

His third priority was in direct opposition to the first, but nonetheless urgent. Cwyn had to reconstruct the smokescreen of half-lies, half-truths and blatant misdirection he has spent weeks weaving and a few unthinking moments nearly destroying.

Otherwise it was more than possible that someone else would slit his throat long before Baazel could return.

[Long post, I know. I try never to use 3 words when 30 will do... ]

The last thing Cwyn remembered was doing what he did best: running. More specifically, running for his life from some cutthroat thug whose sole pleasure in life seemed to be the imminent slaughter of a poor, unlucky Dermorian.

When the fog in his mind cleared, Cwyn sat up and stared around. Rusted bridges, great spires, fantastic structures. For a moment, he hoped that perhaps his feet had carried him all the way to the Bronze Doors, where he’d passed out from exhaustion… But a sinking feeling told him that, once again, his luck had betrayed him.

Hearing voices, he crept towards the sound. There, on a narrow ledge, stood a great, strong-looking Diaboli, deep in conversation with Allena, a pretty Nolthrir that Cwyn had met previously in Hydlaa. (He had her marked up in his mind as ‘likely to succumb to roguish charm and susceptible to swindling out of food, drink and/or money.’)

The pair welcomed Cwyn and confirmed that he did find himself in the death realm. Mistaking their unintelligible (to Cwyn’s ears) conversation  as a plan to escape the death realm, he allowed himself to be drawn in, even though the Diaboli – introduced as Rigwyn – seemed intent on using Cwyn for a dangerous experiment of some sort.

Not realising that his better judgment had, in fact, taken the day off, the Dermorian weighed up the situation. If he ever met Allena again outside of this dank hole, she might still make good on her promise of a drink. More importantly, Cwyn’s still-boyish pride rankled at Rigwyn’s constant jibes. Some ancient, useless but not quite buried part of him made him determined to prove… something, even though he wasn’t sure what. Besides, he still had his quick tongue to keep him out of trouble, didn’t he?

But it failed him as well, and as the miserable and inevitable result, Cwyn quickly found himself in over his pointy ears in the kind of situation he was normally very good at avoiding. Dark, not-quite-abandoned buildings, talk of runes and glyphs, giant winged creatures that lurked in the dark…

Then fate struck. The Diaboli was wounded, and Cwyn, unthinkingly, reacted with a crystal spell he had ready. Later, he would curse himself for even keeping the crystal glyph – using it hurt, and it taunted him with its pure goodness.

The crystal spell burned and tore into the dark way mage’s flesh. Rigwyn bellowed – in pain, or rage, or both – Cwyn didn’t wait to find out. He did what he did best: he ran.

Dazed, confused and consumed with that old shameful fear that he thought he had killed and buried, he scampered out of the death realm. Dakkru must have smiled on him, because even with his mind frozen with the horror of what he had done and the power of the enemy he might have made, he found his way out.

Once outside, he wandered the Dome for as long he could. Slowly, fear faded into anger that he didn’t understand and didn’t try to. For a while, scrounging and looting to stay alive, he managed to avoid the inevitable: that sooner or later, all roads lead back to Hydlaa.